Unmasking Deception, page 9
Nor was it long before Lord Richard strode out of the cellar, Adrian bolted back in, handing over his cap to the visitor as he went. Richard clapped it to his head, nodded to Viola and the girls, and limped down the path. Viola hoped no one watching would notice the limp or the empty left sleeve, or if they did, perhaps they would attribute it to some game.
Hastily, she scampered after the officer, catching up with him just before the gate to the mews.
“Has his wound been seen to?” Lord Richard almost barked. “How serious is it?”
“Not serious, according to Napper, though it bled a lot. Napper assisted an army surgeon in the late wars. The wound is stitched and healing cleanly. There is no sign of corruption or fever.”
Lord Richard nodded, and his shoulders seemed to relax slightly. “I’ll take him out of your hair, ma’am. If you give me a day to make arrangements.”
“Where will you take him?” she asked uneasily.
He spared her a glance. “Not back to Newgate if that’s what you’re thinking. Why do you believe him to be innocent? You don’t know him, do you?”
“No,” she admitted. “As to why…I could imagine him killing in a temper, in a duel, even by accident in a fight. But to stab a man in the dark and leave him there while he slept off his wine at home…”
“Leaving the stolen money and sleeve buttons behind the plant pot on his own doorstep… The carelessness is Dominic. The stupidity is not.” He sighed. “Neither is the killing. I will look farther, so you may stop. May I call at the house or leave you another note tomorrow?”
“Either is convenient,” she said.
He nodded curtly and strode off.
Returning thoughtfully to the cellar, she encountered her siblings removing the tea things. They were very good about returning the crockery to be sure the servants did not come looking for it.
On the sofa below, Dominic sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, while he gazed into space. After a moment, his eyes came back into focus, and he smiled at her.
“Lord Richard says he will take you away from here tomorrow,” she said lightly.
He nodded. “That is for the best.”
After a moment, she sat down beside him. “He does believe you. He will look into it.”
Dominic raised one eyebrow. “Did he say that?”
She nodded.
An unexpected smile flickered across Dominic’s lips. “About time. He has not been himself since Waterloo. As if he’s not living in this world. Frankly, that scared me more than the injuries I could see. I thought he was dying.” He shifted restlessly. “When we were boys, he always looked out for me in his own way, never forgot about me as the others did. And yet, when he came home, I could not return the favor. I could not look after him.”
Without thinking, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. For a moment, he gazed at their joined hands, then his fingers turned and curled around hers.
“I will miss you, Viola Dove.”
Her throat closed up. She would miss him, too, more than he would ever understand. Idly, his thumb caressed the side of her hand, generating butterflies and heat that spread through her veins.
Impossible.
Forcing a smile, she drew her hand free and rose to her feet. “I should go and change for dinner.”
“What entertainment awaits you tonight?”
“Just the theatre and an early night. Probably because there is some ball or other the following night.”
“Don’t you know?” he asked, apparently amused.
She shook her head. “They all blend together in an uncomfortable heap. But I like the theatre. I expect it’s like escaping into a novel.”
“If you pay enough attention. I’ll listen out for you coming home.”
Why would he do that? she wondered as she hurried out of the cellar and locked it behind her.
He won’t, she answered herself. It was just something to say.
*
They had been invited to attend the theatre by Lady Trewthorpe, Mama’s cousin, who was kind enough to send the carriage and Frank to convey them.
“Very glad you’re here,” Frank confided to Viola in the carriage. “The play is some wretched stuff by Shakespeare that bores on and on, so good company is essential.”
“I rather like Shakespeare,” admitted Viola, who had read none of it but had seen several plays in London and listened to her sisters reciting some sonnets. “But cheer up. There is bound to be a comedy, too.”
“Or jugglers,” Frank said, brightening.
“If we’re very lucky,” Viola said gravely.
Frank grinned.
As usual, there was a terrible crush in the theatre, though Lady Trewthorpe’s box was a blessed haven of space.
“Is that person in the pit waving to you?” Mama demanded, affronted.
“I shouldn’t think so.” Viola glanced down and, among the milling throng below, saw a vaguely familiar gentleman smile and bow, apparently directly to her. She glanced to each side of her in search of a likelier recipient and found only her mother and Frank.
“Why, it’s Sir Alfred Minton,” Lady Trewthorpe said in some surprise. “You would appear to have made a conquest, Viola. A man of birth and reasonable fortune, too.”
“I thought it was the younger son who liked you?” Mama hissed. “Sir Alfred is much more suitable.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” she whispered back and was quite relieved when the curtain rose.
For once, she found it difficult to concentrate on the play. Her mind was full of Dominic and the murder of Mr. Crawley. And how empty her life would seem once he was gone from the cellar. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
Her distraction was not helped by one of their visitors at the first interval—Mr. Minton, who was so associated in her mind with Dominic that she was glad to see him. He singled her out almost as soon as he had greeted Lady Trewthorpe, which had to be a good thing, except she could not find a way to bring the conversation subtly round to the murder.
“And will you be at Sedgemoor House tomorrow evening?” he said as he stood up.
Viola’s startled gaze flew up to his. “Sedgemoor House?”
“Yes, for Lady Rampton’s ball,” he said.
She glanced a little wildly at her mother. “I am not sure…”
“Of course we go to Lady Rampton’s, my dear,” her mother scolded. “I told you weeks ago! We look forward to seeing you there, sir.”
It was certainly a great opportunity. Surely between them, she and Lord Richard could find out what Minton knew. Perhaps the other fellow, Jarvey, would be there, too.
She was so busy mulling such things over that it took some time to notice that Frank was paying no attention whatsoever to the stage. He was constantly scanning the other boxes with such concentration that it was clearly no idle interest.
She leaned closer to him and whispered, “Who are you looking for?”
To her surprise, he blushed. “No one. Just looking.”
“Whopper,” Viola commented, and he spared her a glance of mingled irritation and amusement.
Surreptitiously, he edged his chair back. She followed, although there was little need to whisper. The conversations going on all around them, which were frequently louder than the stage dialogue, provided privacy enough.
“There’s a girl,” Frank breathed reverently.
“Here?”
He shook his head despondently. “Doesn’t appear to be. Thing is, she isn’t out yet, so she doesn’t go to balls and parties. But I did see her at the theatre once.”
“How did you meet her, then?”
“In the park. She’s beautiful, Vee, and so sweet and funny, and her father won’t let me come near her.”
“Not even if she’s chaperoned?”
“No, he takes me for some rake or fortune hunter. In fact, he’s threatening to take her back to the country. I was hoping she would be here, but…”
With a hint of unease, Viola asked, “Exactly how old is she?”
“Sixteen. Just. But she’s an orphan, in the power of her uncle, who is her guardian. I know he has to be careful of fortune hunters, for she is a considerable heiress, apparently. But honestly, Viola, I am not a poor man, am I? I am my father’s heir!”
Viola nodded sympathetically, though the story struck her as somewhat melodramatic. And possibly made up by a bored, very young lady.
“What should I do?” Frank asked her with a hint of desperation.
“Honestly?” she said. “Wait until next Season, when she will come out, and you will be properly introduced and may stand up with her at all the balls. It doesn’t sound as if anyone’s going to be able to snap her up before them.”
“I thought you would say something like that,” Frank observed gloomily.
“Anything else will merely rile her guardian and set him against you,” Viola warned. “So don’t do anything foolish, Frank.” Even as she said the words, she realized their hypocrisy. Was she herself not harboring a convicted murderer she had met a mere two nights ago?
*
Mama appeared to have been mulling over the Minton brothers’ apparent interest in Viola, for when Lady Trewthorpe’s carriage returned them home after the play, she followed Viola into her bedchamber.
“It won’t do,” she pointed out, “to encourage the younger Minton as well as the elder.”
“I have not encouraged either of them! And as for Sir Alfred, you are reading too much into a mere bow.”
“But he did appear to single you out,” her mother said.
“I have my suspicions that that was more to annoy his brother than to ingratiate himself with me.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “What on earth has given you that idea?”
“Oh, just Sir Alfred’s manner when we danced at Mrs. Dorland’s ball. I believe he is…mischievous.”
“Well, you would not like too staid a husband,” her mother pointed out.
A hint of panic warned Viola that she didn’t want a husband at all, not from the Minton family.
Her mother patted her arm. “There, we shall see, but it is something to think about. I am for bed, and I strongly advise you to do the same. Tomorrow night we shall be late again. Good night, my dear.”
“Good night.” Viola watched her go before pacing uncomfortably to the window.
She had seen no sign of watching Runners in the mews since last night and saw none now. It seemed they had given up on Bernard Street, though she doubted they had given up on Dominic. She mulled over the facts of his case and the possibilities of his sister-in-law’s ball tomorrow evening.
Of course, her time was running out to discuss matters with Dominic himself, for Lord Richard would take him away tomorrow.
Concerns for his safety, a jumble of plans, and suspicions all seemed to fall on her at once. And if she was truthful, she wanted another tete-a-tete like last night’s. No one had ever fascinated her in that way before, and he was about to walk out of her life.
She let the curtain drop, and, snatching up the candle, she left her chamber and crept downstairs to the empty kitchen. She took the cellar key from the hook where the children had obediently left it, and after swapping a lantern for her candle, let herself out into the back garden.
Of course, Dominic and Napper could be asleep… Hesitant to barge in, she scratched softly at the door, then cast a nervous glance up at the rows of windows along the length of the street. She could not linger here. As quietly as she could, she slid the key in the lock, turned it, and pulled the door open a crack. Relieved to see a faint light below, she whisked herself inside and closed over the door.
“Hello?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” replied a soft voice, so close that she jumped and almost dropped the lantern.
Dominic loomed out of the shadows at the top of the steps and into the lantern’s glow. She gasped in relief and realized she was clutching the fabric of her gown over her breast. Hastily, she released it.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Were you expecting intruders?”
“Always possible. Is everything well?”
“Yes, I just wanted to speak to you about tomorrow.” Now that she was here, close beside him, surrounded by silence and mostly darkness beyond the reach of the lantern, she felt foolish and awkward. “I wasn’t sure what…That is, tomorrow will do, I was just afraid you would be gone but… Yes, the morning will be better. Good—”
As she swung around to go, he caught the hand that held the lantern. “Wait. Napper is asleep and won’t wake for anything as trivial as our voices. Tell me what you wished to discuss.”
His fingers, strong and deft, detached hers from the lantern, which he set on the ground. The light flared upward over his lean jaw and piercing eyes, casting odd shadows, emphasizing the sharp bones of his face and the curve of his long, sensual lips. Perhaps it was the fright of his sudden appearance a moment ago, but her heart beat too fast. Her whole body all but tingled with awareness.
She swallowed. “The ball I told you we are attending tomorrow evening? Apparently, it’s Lady Rampton’s, at Sedgemoor House. I’m assuming Lord Richard will be there. I know Mr. Minton will be, and it struck me that if Sir Alfred Minton is also present, I can see if he is aware of his brother’s movements that night. Lord Richard—”
His head swooped suddenly, interrupting her with a quick, soft kiss on her lips.
Heat flamed through her, even though his touch was brief. “What…what was that for?”
“For worrying about me, for helping me. For being so sweet and so damnably beautiful.”
His words, as much as his action, were quite improper. Yet somehow, the novelty of being called damnably beautiful was utterly enchanting. Without thought, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him back.
“Don’t,” he murmured, though his arms slipped around her. “Don’t tempt me.”
Tempt him? He wanted to kiss her again? Entranced, she gazed at his mouth, which had felt so warm and firm that she wanted more. Without meaning to, she tilted her face closer, reached up to brush her fingertips against his lips, a soft, curious caress.
They smiled at her touch. His breath hitched, and then his head lowered with purpose, and his mouth took her.
This kiss was completely different. This was invasive, consuming, all fire and sweetness. Stunned, overwhelmed, she hung in his arms, battered by unfamiliar pleasures and desires. Until she felt the loosening of his arms and realized he meant to end it.
Too soon, much too soon… In panic, she pushed her arms up around his neck to keep him close, and when his hands swept up and down her back, then pressed her into his body, her mouth opened in a gasp. She kissed him back, meeting his lips and his tongue with a delight that was no longer helpless. His broad chest against her breasts, the touch of his hips, and the growing hardness between excited her beyond reason. His mouth plundered, and she gave herself up to it in blatant pleasure.
His muscled thigh moved, stroking between her legs, and she emitted a tiny moan. If he hadn’t been holding her up, her knees would have buckled.
“Miss Dove,” he whispered against her lips. “How can you look like an angel and kiss like a demon?”
She drew back enough to peer into his face, suddenly swamped with uncertainty. “Is that bad?” she blurted.
A breath of laughter shook him. “Oh, no. That’s very, very good…” As if to prove it, he kissed her again, long and tenderly. But he had removed his leg from between her own, and when the kiss finally ended, his arms loosened, too.
“When this is over,” he murmured, tracing the line of her upper lip with his thumb, “I would like us to meet again. Until then, you must step back, Viola Dove. I am already too much in your debt. If and when I clear my name, I will tell you everything.”
She frowned, recognizing dismissal when she heard it. The unfairness inspired indignation. She was already part of his trouble and was entirely invested in the outcome even if he hadn’t kissed her.
“Promise me,” he said urgently. “For your own safety, Viola, ask no more questions. And don’t marry Minton.”
Abruptly, her haze of joy vanished.
She had all but thrown herself at him in the dark. And now he was warning her out of his life while trying to control hers.
She stepped back and picked up the lantern. The light shook slightly with her hand, but still, she managed to laugh as she turned away from him. “Marry a younger son?” she drawled. “Please! Good night, my lord.”
Somehow, she got out of the cellar. He made no move to keep her, but it was difficult to see when blinded by tears.
Chapter Eight
By morning, Viola knew she had overreacted, both to Dominic’s kisses and to his gentlemanly care for her wellbeing. A stolen kiss, however thrilling, was not a proposal of marriage, and in truth, she had not consciously thought of it as such. In fact, the kiss seemed to have removed her ability to think at all beyond More!
But to be kissed and then, almost in the same breath, to be told to leave alone the problems that had brought them together had seemed insulting, as though neither the kiss nor her help mattered. As though she did not matter.
Which was silly. His first kiss had been merely friendly. It was surely at her invitation the others had happened. But she read far too much into it. Gentlemen kissed easily and often, but he was right to point out she was not part of his life.
A fugitive he might be, but his family were aristocrats of the first rank. The Doves were mere gentry, admitted to the haute ton only by Mama’s relationship to the Earl of Wenning.
By the time she went down for breakfast, she admitted to herself that her spurt of temper was as embarrassing as her wanton behavior. She needed to apologize for both.
Before that, however, she had to help eject Pup from the breakfast parlor and force a slice of toast into her knotted stomach. In a fit of cowardice, she then appointed Adrian to smuggle breakfast down to the fugitives, while she and the girls took Pup to the park.
